


Or Something to that Effect

by justgarbage



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justgarbage/pseuds/justgarbage
Summary: Bluntly, life sucks for male omegas.“Ya spend yer’ heats alone?” Spoken like he can’t believe it.Life sucks even even more because of stupid alphas.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 129





	Or Something to that Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote with this song (Graveyard Whistling by Nothing but Thieves) in mind—have a listen while you read: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=DCCAEcuOk_g

Bluntly, life sucks for male omegas. 

They’re whored out and outcast as being even more uselessly feminine than female omegas. They’re abandoned or killed when they’re still babies, abandoned or killed so their families aren’t cursed with a darkness from God.

Life sucks even more for male omegas when they’re constantly on the move. Having to adjust to a brand new area during heat is torture that causes paranoia and skittishness that in turn makes everyone traveling with them irritable. 

Therefore, it’s easy to imagine how much life sucks for John, who on top of all of the above, has a complicated relationship with his “wife” and isn’t sure if his child is actually his because most children with an omega sire don’t even make it past the first trimester. But Jack lived and he’s a young beta who has a father that has to leave camp a few days a month to writhe in pain in some out of sight tent because female alphas are rare to come by and he’s damn well not going to be a sodomite on top of being a weakly bred man. 

“Ya spend yer’ heats alone?” Spoken like he can’t believe it.

Life sucks even even more because of stupid alphas.

“Can’t ya buy someone’s company?”

Stupid alphas and their pretty blue eyes that are so tough and clouded and impenetrable yet-

“If ya ever need someone… I’m here.”

-so true.

John can’t even take solace in solidarity. He’s the only one at the camp. Well, apart from Molly, but she’s got Dutch. He wonders how Dutch is with her, if he’s as rough as John’s inclined to believe alphas are.

John shudders at the thought. At unwanted bruises, hand prints around a neck. He can’t stand for alphas to be anywhere near him when he starts his heat. He knows what they are.

But. He’s also a fool.

It sneaks up, sooner than usual. Maybe it’s the full moon or what position the stars are in or maybe it’s because John’s been reckless, been letting how he feels run amuck and the hormones in his body have finally pieced it together, finally decided to do something about each lonely breath that John sucks in through his teeth and then lets rattle out of his aching lungs.

If ya ever need someone.

That’s all John ever does: need. But now? Christ, he needs so badly. The emptiness feels heavy now where it was a manageable hollow before.

Arthur is there, like the world commanded him to be, like John commanded him to be.

There’s an arm around his waist, guiding him to the ground. He’s glad it hasn’t rained recently, that he’s not sitting down in mud and making an even bigger fool of himself than he is already.

“It’s okay.”

Everything in John’s body is hardwired to respond to those two words whispered from the mouth of someone dear. And it does, even if not traditionally.

He kisses Arthur, mutters praise about how good he smells.

A hand pressed to Arthur’s chest allows John to feel his heartbeat, beating faster, faster. Scared. Terrified, actually.

“I need someone.” It’s selfish. But john watches Arthur’s pupils blow flush to edges of his irises, nearly blocking out the blue; a miniature eclipse that has John mesmerized. 

“Me too.” John wonders if he should prescribe some hail Mary’s for the look on Arthur’s face but before he has time to ask a coin for offertory Arthur’s mouth is silencing his. 

Yeah, normally John can’t stand alphas being anywhere in his vicinity, but. Arthur isn’t just some alpha, he’s a friend, he’s trusted. 

In that case, though, Dutch is trusted, right? For the most part, at least. Sure he’s old but he’s not that old, he’s attractive enough and John’s sure that he’s a strong alpha, one that could take care of him. But Dutch overtop of him, Dutch’s teeth on his skin, the thought makes John want to vomit.

Arthur, however. He presses a kiss underneath John’s earlobe that’s much too gentle and John’s body burns for him.

It’s simple, really. Arthur is John’s. Looking back, that’s the only way it could ever be. And consequently, John is Arthur’s.

Male omegas getting fucked in brothels and used until the day they die, that’s one thing, that’s not wrong, that’s not queer or immoral because that’s how male omegas were meant to be used. But a male omega that’s his own boss? That isn’t being handed from person to person and has decided that they have more worth than to be a glorified toy?

And for an alpha, a male at that, to willingly be with him, no money included no promise of pleasure or a quick fuck, just someone that wants to be with him.

That’s unheard of.

But John’s hearing plenty of it; Arthur’s low voice. Lamenting about John’s beauty, about how perfect he is, about love, love, love and about regret. And maybe he doesn’t say these words out loud but John can feel how much it hurt when he left for a year, how agonizing it was to search for him up in the mountains, not knowing if they’d end up finding his corpse. 

John can taste the bitter jealousy—yet such sweet fondness—that accompanies Arthur whenever he sees Abigail and Jack. The need to yell and confess everything, every skip of his heart and embarrassing dream, conflicting directly with the need to keep it locked up tight, to protect John’s family no matter the cost, to make sure that they’re the happy golden bunch that they’re meant to be.

When Arthur finally unravels deep inside of John, bites down on John’s neck in a way that can’t be anything other than involuntary, John knows that he doesn’t want to be a happy golden bunch. At least, not without Arthur.

John clings to Arthur’s shoulders after finding his own release and listens to his heartbeat.

Slower, slower, almost drowsy, then a spike. John recognizes it too; they’re out in the open, which doesn’t speak too much of a fear of other people finding them—it is the middle of the night—but rather the local wildlife thinking they’ve stumbled upon an easy snack.

Wolves, John knows them well.

Then there’s another spike, Arthur’s heart speeding up. But he’s not wary of his surroundings he’s just caught a second wind, which very well may be John’s fault, as heats are insatiable and the pheromones can keep an alpha on their toes for days.

However, Arthur pulls away and manages to continue doing so even as John whines for him to come back. He dresses as fast as he can, not bothering to fasten his belt before he lifts John in his arms—delicately, not the standard fling over the shoulder—and carries him back to camp. Specifically, the tent a little far back from camp that had been set up for the express purpose of isolating John during his heats. 

It’s one thing to be intimate sexually, but right now John is a complete mess and he feels like he might combust if Arthur takes his hands off of him, and it hurts to think how Arthur must see him in this moment, the pathetic little omega. John hides his face in the space between Arthur’s neck and shoulder, takes comfort in his smell, in his warmth, in the soft whispers that rumble out through his throat. 

Unthinkingly, he presses a kiss there, moves his hand to hold Arthur’s jaw, continues to kiss his neck until he’s pulling at skin with his teeth and Arthur’s gripping the side of his thigh and walking much faster than before.

—

John wakes up and Arthur is gone because he has to be, but his coat, the worn leather one with the tails, is draped over John’s body.

The bite mark on his neck (among others) stands proudly. He belongs to Arthur now and Arthur belongs to him. He’s ecstatic and horrified at the same time. Surely people will notice, and John isn’t sure what’ll happen once they do.

He gets dressed, wears a coat that has standing flaps so it hides his neck.

Kieran is talking to everyone with an enthusiasm that John’s never seen in him. He’s not a social person, at least not with their group.

One of the horses is pregnant, that’s what he’s so excited about. He can tell because she’s changed her eating habits and has a much lower tolerance for the other horses. It’s a bit of an inconvenience as no one is sure how to raise a foal, but Kieran seems to have full faith that the mare will do a fine enough job by herself.

—

Arthur is back two days later, a deer in tow and a good hundred dollars to keep the camp running.

He’s not soft towards John, not different, leave perhaps more affectionate. He still doesn’t have a single issue with letting John know that he’s a dumbass or calling him out on the stupid shit he does. Just the same as John teases him for being a stubborn smartass. 

—

A week later Arthur finds him at night, finds him in the dark where he stands watching the stars.

Arthur drags John’s coat off slowly, sensually, lovingly. He kisses John’s exposed neck, right where the top bone of his spine sticks out just a little too far. Then he kisses their bond and John shudders, leans into his body, lets himself feel alive as Arthur’s hands worship his waist and then below.

Again, there’s his heartbeat, giving away his every thought, his scent, giving away his every regret. He has countless of both, though on the subject of regrets John knows that this isn’t one of them. 

—

Arthur comes by camp more often, doesn’t spend more than three or four days without coming back to check in. After a few visits and nothing more, John’s growing worried. 

Not of loss of interest, because he trusts Arthur more than that. More than to immediately assume that he’s moved on, because John knows him and knows that this isn’t the case. No, something is eating at Arthur.

So instead of waiting, John goes to Arthur at night, holds his hand where no one can see even if they wake up.

“In Saint Denis, there was a man n’ his wife.” Arthur shakes his head, leans it on John’s shoulder like the weight of the world. “I don’t even know wha’ happened. But she got shot.” Arthur takes a deep breath that John can almost feel in his own lungs. “Watched him carry ‘er out on ‘is horse. At first he was cryin’ but then he jus got real silent ‘nd he rode off like he was gonna be lynched in the mornin’.”

John knows that he’ll never believe it no matter how many times he says it, so he just thinks it instead. You’re a good man, Arthur Morgan.

John stays with him for the night and leaves before the sun rises. Before anyone can notice that he was ever there. If anyone did notice, they don’t mention it.

—

The mare is about a few months pregnant and Kieran keeps careful distance from her.

“Nature doesn’t like us meddlin’.” 

John supposes he’s probably right. The mare is strong and defiant, doesn’t shy away as much from noise but rather stands her ground and huffs as if she might charge. 

All of which meaning to say; she probably doesn’t need a human’s help right now.

Unlike John, who should be going into heat any day now. Seeing as his cycle got off track it’s harder to predict, but he’s never been too unusually late.

—

A week passes.

—

Another week passes.

—

On the fourth day of the third week, John wakes up feeling like the world is spinning. Hosea offers him breakfast with that concerned fatherly face of his and John refuses it, thinks he might throw up if he eats something.

—

On the sixth day of the third week Micah gets on his ass for something or other and John doesn’t mind too much because it’s Micah: the village asshole, but then he gets in John’s face.

“You ignorin’ me, omega?”

John’s about to slug him upside the jaw but Arthur beats him to it with a wild growl in his throat. It takes Dutch and Lenny both to hold Micah back.

John looks back at Arthur and Arthur looks from his split and bloodied knuckles to John’s face as if he doesn’t know why he just did what he did. It pisses John off a little, that Arthur thinks he needs to fight his battles for him. 

John shoves past him.

—

John sucks and bites at Arthur’s neck until it leaves a mark. Silent treatment never works anyway.

Arthur stays with him through the night. He’s there when John wakes up before dawn and rushes out of the tent because his insides are churning and vomits on the ground.

Arthur rushes out with his bitter concern filling the air, rubs John’s back until he can breathe again.

They go back in the tent in hope of a few more hours of sleep, a few more hours together, but before they can get there Arthur is staring. Not at John but at blades of grass, barely distinguishable in the dark.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Arthur blinks, shakes his head, but he looks John in the eyes. “Why haven’t ya gone into heat?”

John feels ice creeping down his spine.

“Been a month, right?”

This isn’t possible, this isn’t happening. John nods anyway. “Almost two.” He’s sure that his smell gives away how he’s petrified.

Arthur reacts, moves to hold John’s face in his hands. “Is… are you…?”

John feels a tear escape and knows that he’s pathetic for it. He covers one of Arthur’s hands with his own. “I didn’t know.” This is the end of him, the end of them.

Arthur, however, just pulls him in close like he’s the only thing left in the world.


End file.
